


paradigms and apertures

by solivaganteros



Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous Relationships, Character Study, Emotional Baggage, M/M, Pining, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:08:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27456238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solivaganteros/pseuds/solivaganteros
Summary: Decades were spent for Gustavo to build walls that nobody was ever meant to see.Jesse windows through them, gently.
Relationships: (past), Gustavo Fring/Jesse Pinkman, Max Arciniega/Gustavo Fring
Comments: 4
Kudos: 18





	paradigms and apertures

**Author's Note:**

> i was mentally asleep while writing this so i hope its not too bad 👉👈 i was obsessing over this ship so much because gustavo is honestly a really special villain to me and jesse deserves more than just walter,,, anyway minor notes:
> 
> \- jesse and gustavo's relationship isn't fully defined here, it can be read as one sided and what not  
> \- these are genuinely just headcanons based off whatever was canon in bcs/brba, i just wanted to fuck around

it starts with the tide.  
  
it continues with the moon.  
  
on the rare occasions in his youth, he used to see his feet buried in the sand, the scent of saltwater wrapping around his ankles.   
  
the world was open. the sky was bright. when he swallowed, he relished the fact he could breathe. 

* * *

  
pinkman is doing his job, earphones plugged in and only so often fidgeting as he waits for the processing to be finished. the other screens are small and insignificant, framing the day to day movements of the restaurant. there is only one camera in the lab, and he uses it to observe.   
  
and he thinks about the boy's words, feels the corner of his lips twist to the side. an involuntary twitch. pinkman moves to climb to the surface of the tub, and he looks to the end of the door, and faces the camera for a second. the camera is of decent quality to notice whether his mouth, eyes or hands are moving.   
  
he stared curiously. perhaps waiting for white's presence.   
  
if gustavo had his way, he would have had that man killed already. it's only upon jesse's consent that this does not happen.  
  
he is unwilling to set the notion free, the fact that this boy, would let someone who sees him as much less, would die than continue if his partner dies.   
  
and yet, he understands it. no matter how naive, innocent and pure, the admission is as open as the hole in the back of his mind; there are parts that died a long time ago with him, too. his eyes catch the right moment jesse looks to the screen again.   
  
he blinks curiously, then in a matter of impulse raises his hand, before dropping it and turning around. 

* * *

  
by the hair on his head, by the movement of the trees, in his mind there had truly been nobody in the world for him again.  
  
in the drought of the mountains, past the lucuma tree, he recognizes the red that blooms in the sands. the añañuca flowers, ever so rare and always within his temptations to pick. all he's ever done is watch as it came to life, and disappeared almost just as quickly.   
  
they were red in the expanse of yellow, pools and pools of them gathered in spots, and he had the thought that such flowers could stretch over to the desert in lengths that he could never dream of.   
  
he wanted to venture to them, get lost in the life that he could have been one with. 

  
it was all but childhood imagination.   
  
he did not know if he sorely missed it. 

* * *

  
in the heat of the desert, no life has bloomed. nothing but dying trees and cacti reside in the sands, the course of wind only slightly soothing the possibility of blisters on their skin.   
  
they stopped by something that felt convenient enough for shade. he had sat down, taking the bottle pinkman had offered him and downed it, the pain in his stomach finally being realized when he breathed from his mouth.   
  
in his view, a peripheral of the boy trying to divide between drinking and spilling some on his face, and the landscape of the desert. empty, and, only with the safety of a GPS could really be able to make this navigable. it almost looks endless, but if gus were to see further enough then the roots of civilization would offer them to find their way back.   
  
someone like pinkman, in the middle of rubbing sand particles off his eye has a grip onto the rock gus sits on, ready to get up if it weren't for his current task at hand. gus gets up anyway, but his fingers linger to the edge of his pocket, waiting to hear footsteps follow from behind.   
  
and then they walked. time was not friendly, but it never really is even when you move, when your mind only thinks too ahead. he will mind the ache in his soles later, the drenching of sweat beginning to accumulate to his shirt, and the unrelenting feeling of wet snaking itself uncomfortably around his neck. it is not welcoming, but he will get used to this enough.   
  
pinkman had decided, not to fall back but to walk in a pace similar to his. his breath is the only thing that fills their silence, the heat practically taking away what he can breathe, but gus doesn't oppose it.   
  
he hated the desert. it reminded him of childhood. it's what makes his eyebrow furrow, prompting a twitch as the light directs to his eyes and forces him to keep his hand above the afternoon heat.   
  
"how long can you do?" he asked. jesse huffed through his nostrils, and his tongue darted out to lick dry lips. he was unable to give him a proper answer, but he attempted anyway.  
  
"what? what do you mean?"  
  
"are you able to continue walking for another hour? we have three more miles to go." his voice felt dry already.   
  
"i.. three," jesse breathed out, "that's like... what, an hour?" he shut an eye when the rays of the sun fall over them. he jerked his head to face away from it, facing gus completely, using his jacket to cover it.   
  
"yes. we may stop on the way, though i suggest it is better to keep going."  
  
"why'd you bring it up then?"  
  
"you look exhausted."   
  
they stared at each other, jesse in disblief, meanwhile gustavo waiting for his answer.   
  
"no," jesse shook his head, "i can take it. i can totally handle it, we'll be okay."  
  
it takes another assessment on gustavo's end to make sure of that. his pale face was flushed, lips dried out so quickly that he wonders if it may split. the bruises still decorate his face, but even if he could ask about it, gustavo realizes that he may know what the answer is already. jesse blinks, the movements of his hands beginning to idle as gus answers him.  
  
"very well," gus turns on his heel, moving ahead. "let's be on our way." 

* * *

  
the ocean expands miles ahead of them.   
  
they're not heading that way, it is a view moving further away from them, and he turns back to the car door, the unsaid goodbye sitting on his tongue.   
  
max gives him a smile.   
  
"we'll be alright," he tells him, at first reaching to touch the edge of the metal before pulling back from the heat radiating off of it. "maybe there will be better."  
  
it's only simple reassurance, but gustavo can hear the way the water collides onto the sand, loud and clear, the last he will hear in this air. the faint seasalt and the dark blue will never be the same as the home he had cultivated from here.   
  
and now he has a new one.   
  
max leans out on his end of the side, reaching out to beckon him inside. his face had never been so lively. all he was is dark eyes, and a stand out to the sea of prim and proper. all he did was stretch out his hand, and gustavo had taken it. 

* * *

  
jesse's eyes are blue. especially when the light hits him perfectly, they cast a light that gus could have been used to. he speaks with the whole of his mouth, fidgets and gestures rampantly into the air, like his own bubble was a space he enjoyed.   
  
in gus's presence, however, he only looks on, awaiting the next thing he'd want jesse to do.   
  
if not, he asks for it. loud and clear, filling the room. jesse was young, energetic, with a heart that had yet to crumble under the weight of the world he was thrusted into. gus is surprised, for all the death and destruction he has seen, that he only wants to become the same man.   
  
he studies his face. subconsciousness tempts him into reaching out to cup his face.   
  
"you have not treated your wounds." he says.  
  
"wounds?" jesse blinks, then touches his own face. "—oh. i didn't think it'd be that bad."   
  
"will it ache if i touch it?" gustavo asks. jesse swallows, pressing down on the bruise. it's turned darker than yesterday, and though gustavo doesn't cringe away at it, he feels himself tighten at the ache he's thoroughly neglected. he moves away, grabbing his phone and calling tyrus.  
  
"what— what are you doing?" jesse asks.  
  
"i am calling so that you can get ice. it was unnecessary for you to worsen it." gustavo simply states. he leans back on his seat, eyes trained on the boy as he crosses his legs.   
  
"yo, really, you don't gotta—"  
  
he stops him with a raised hand. tyrus's voice is heard at the end of the call and he speaks to him. jesse is confused. and sitll, he sits back, where the corner of his mouth reaches the left of his cheek. he'll be alright, gustavo is aware, but it would be better if he knew that it was taken care of.   
  


* * *

  
the feeling of acid burnt through his body as did the sun.   
  
eating food after a long time of barely doing so had only forced him to vomit from his body's conditions, but he gets to remember what it was like to taste again. even if it was unpleasant.  
  
small fingers wrapped around a fruit, toes on the very tips as he grabbed onto it for a third time. it was divine, filling his throat and breaking under his teeth. he felt, even as his body had tried to reject it, wanting to let it fill and bring his body back to life, letting it spill into his throat and replenish the weakness in his blood.   
  
he felt as though he was born again, just with a simple fruit in his hands.   
  
amidst the desperation, the drought in his lips, his eyes had felt wet for the first time in a long time. 

* * *

  
he owes him his life.  
  
gus is very sure that the boy has heard that over and over, but the words have never left its meaning. he is a man of his own word, after all. neither has that, nor jesse, left his mind.   
  
it is why they have stumbled on the floor, drenched in blood, and it's loud, echoing through the lab, and he realized that he had caught jesse the moment he had almost fallen to the floor.   
  
he did not know who shot first. he only knows that jesse had been caught in the middle of it all.   
  
his ears ring violently, heart only siding with the sound and the tremors that gus's body is taking as adrenaline and shock rush through him. whether white is dead or not is not his concern, not now, not today, not ever.   
  
all he needs to do now is pull pinkman's body up to the elevator. no threat awaits him, letting jesse's arms curl weakly around his neck, feeling the breathing in his chest push against gus's back as he hurries his way to where a phone has to be and where jesse can be.   
  
the fear scraped, but the dread, the denial and grief swirl down to his stomach in a manner where he feels nauseous if he stops now. his back is drenched with the blood spilling from jesse's stomach, but he knows he could make it, and he will, he has to.   
he's never going to let it happen.   
  
jesse _can't_ leave him.   
  
his breaths are still so shallow when they reach the nearest hospital. gus can barely hear his own shouts for the boy's blood type, barking out that a bullet is lodged right into his gut, thoughts barely able to compose themselves as jesse's body leaves him to drop onto a seat, shaking like a child.   
  
jesse's blood paints the floor, his fingers, and his clothes. the ringing is gone, but it's as if hearing anything that isn't the sound of this boy coming back to life didn't matter anymore.   
  
time leaves without him, staring off into the entrance of the emergency room. it pulls tight into his throat, filling his brain and body with a vertigo of anguish, shaking him so hard it's as if it's never happened before.  
  
this is only the second time. 

* * *

  
there was the smell of seasalt.  
  
there was the blanket of the oasis.  
  
then, there was the pool, the blood, and the chlorine.  
  
his suit was stained in red, pulling his body as close as he could have, hands buried deep in coarse hair and cold flesh.  
  
he buried his face into his hair and breathed in the last of his perfume, where it coated itself in his blood. where his cheek had rested upon, painting itself the same way. he had been silent. he had been immobile.  
  
he could only wish that the waters would have swallowed him whole.

* * *

  
it is faint.  
  
the beeping is faint.   
  
gus stays next to him, eyes threatening to shut from the tears beckoning to escape. he can see the way his eyelids twitch, eyes rolling until the faded, hint of blue weakly meets his own.  
  
the pressure from his chest leaves as soon as gus sighs. it is a shaky sigh, but the world feels real again.   
  
"jesse-jesse, jesse—" gus finds himself nearly slurring, reaching to hold jesse's face in his hands, resting his forehead against his as he feels the boy reach out to cup the back of his neck.   
  
it occurs to him, now, that the sting finally reaches out to shut his eyes. jesse's thumb rubs down onto his skin, and he can hear him speak gently. his hands cradle his face, thumb brushing over his cheekbone, unable to do anything further than to relish in the warmth returning to jesse's body.   
  
his body tremors, but jesse's arms are handling the same, weak and, dragging themselves to hold back onto gus. he pulls him close, but it's not enough, and even then he cannot risk hurting him again. 

  
"is he... is he dead?" jesse asks, softly.   
  
"you are free from him, jesse," gus answers him. he doesn't know if he's dead, or in the middle of dying, but that's something gustavo for sure knows.

he holds jesse as close as he could, lips pressing onto his hair, feeling jesse hold on, because it's all he'll ever have.   
  
and here, he knew. 

**Author's Note:**

> me, while writing this: why does their relationship sound like an alina baraz album  
> me, who has been listening to the same alina baraz album for the past 3 hours: .


End file.
